Total pages in book: 173
Estimated words: 169266 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 846(@200wpm)___ 677(@250wpm)___ 564(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 169266 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 846(@200wpm)___ 677(@250wpm)___ 564(@300wpm)
“You mean protesters.”
“I mean domestic terrorists.” Her voice sharpens. “People who would destabilize everything we’ve worked to rebuild. The resistance is growing, Nate. Organizing. There have been threats against infrastructure, against government officials. Even against Global Dynamix facilities.”
“And you want me to…what? Be your attack dog?” I practically growl like I already am one.
“I want you to be what you’ve always been.” She leans forward, and for a moment, I see something like pride shining in her eyes. “You’re a symbol, a deterrent. Your presence alone prevents violence. People don’t riot when Vanguard is watching. They don’t plant bombs or storm buildings or hurt innocent civilians. You keep the peace simply by existing.”
“I don’t think protesters are doing any of those things. I think they’re just the scapegoats.”
“You are merely uninformed by biased news.” She gives me a tight smile. “And regardless, you are needed.”
“I’m not killing anyone.”
“Of course not. Don’t be silly,” Julia says patiently, like I’m a child who’s missed the point. “You’re not a weapon. You’re a peacekeeper. The government understands that. They’re not asking you to hurt people—they’re asking you to protect them, to ensure the recovery isn’t derailed by extremists who would rather burn everything down than let us move forward.”
The words are smooth, polished, rehearsed. I wonder how many times she practiced this speech before I woke up. I wonder if she wrote it herself or if Marsh handed her a script.
“And if I say no?”
The question hangs in the air between us. Julia just stares at me, doesn’t blink.
“You won’t say no.” Her voice is gentle, almost tender, and somehow, that makes it worse. “You’re Vanguard. You’re here to serve your country. That’s who you are. That’s who you’ve always been.”
It’s not a threat, not even a warning, just a statement of fact, delivered with absolute certainty.
The sun rises. The tides turn. Vanguard obeys.
The worst part is the piece of me that wants to nod, that wants to say yes ma’am and accept the mission and feel the warm glow of purpose flooding through my veins. They built that into me somehow, this need for approval, this hunger for direction. Without it, I’m just a man in a fancy tech suit with too much power and no idea what to do with it.
“I need to think about it,” I say, though I already know deep down, I won’t do it.
“Of course.” Julia rises, smoothing her lab coat. “Take all the time you need. The formal request won’t come for a few weeks—there’s paperwork, protocols, and congressional oversight that needs to be managed. But I wanted you to hear it from me first.” A pause. “I thought you’d want to know what’s coming.”
So I can prepare myself to comply, I think. So I can get used to the idea before I’m expected to perform.
Fuck that.
She moves toward a bank of screens on the wall, and I watch the data scroll across them. My data. Heart rate, blood pressure, neural activity patterns that pulse and shift across a map of my brain, everything I am reduced to numbers and graphs.
“Speaking of what’s coming,” I say, “what happened to Paragon? You mentioned a malfunction.”
Her fingers pause on the tablet, just for a second. “A minor glitch in his response protocols. He’s been recalibrated.”
“Recalibrated how? Like me just now?”
“The technical details wouldn’t interest you.”
“Try me.”
She turns, studying me with those pale eyes. “Why the sudden curiosity about Paragon?”
Because he was supposed to be there when thirteen people died, but instead, he ‘malfunctioned’, which is a pretty weird word to use to describe a person.
“He’s my partner,” I say. “I should know what’s going on with him.”
Julia’s voice is clipped and impatient. “Paragon is functioning within acceptable parameters. That’s all you need to know.”
Acceptable parameters. The same phrase she uses about me.
The restraints click open.
I sit up slowly, rubbing my wrists even though the padding didn’t leave marks. My head is still foggy, thoughts moving through molasses, my body still feels heavy, and there’s a strange taste at the back of my throat that I don’t normally get from these appointments.
“We’re done here,” Julia says. “Danny’s waiting to take you home. Get some rest. Eat something.” A pause. “And Nate? Think about what I said. About the government contract. About your purpose. You were built for more than publicity appearances and charity galas. It’s time you started acting like it.”
Excuse me?
I stand and try to say something in response to that jab, but for a moment, the room tilts. I catch myself on the edge of the chair, and Julia doesn’t move to help. She just watches, clipboard in hand, noting my momentary weakness the way she notes everything else.
“I have a question,” I say, steadying myself. “The headaches. Are those part of my ‘calibration’ too?”
She frowns. “What headaches?”